Too late
by hopper18
Summary: Magic reveal. *Warning* Character death


**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin**

* * *

The lies themselves didn't hurt so much as the knowledge of the extreme length that had been gone to to keep them hidden, as well as what it must take before the truth was told.

There had been an incident in the lower town. A beast had somehow gotten past all the guards plus the patrolling knights and rampaged there, wreaking havoc and leaving destruction behind its footsteps. There were many casualties-civilian casualties-and the property damage was significant. However, the matters concerning the beast itself, such as where did it come from, how did it get in, what did it want and who would be the one to kill it were no longer paid any attention to, nor were them of any import. The first reason is because the creature was dead. The second reason is because the focus had been shifted to the person responsible for its demise.

More than ten witnesses had confirmed that they saw with their very eyes that a sorcerer had destroyed the beast. No one had seen his face, for he wore a cloak and hid his face very carefully under his hood. But the fireball that appeared from the palm of his hand and the beast burst into flames, leaving nothing behind but ash, those were visible to everyone present at the time. By the time Arthur had gotten to the scene, though, the sorcerer had fled, leaving behind only charcoal and a terrified crowd.

Arthur had wanted to let the matter go. He really did. The sorcerer hadn't killed anyone, hadn't even so much as touch a hair on their heads. He didn't want to condemn someone because they saved people. Had that feat been done by a knight or anyone else, that person would have been rewarded greatly. But a sorcerer had done it, and by the law of Camelot, he must die. What kind of twisted logic was that anyways? He knew his father would see the matter differently, would immediately order capture and execution, because all sorcerers were evil and deceitful. Arthur was not his father, however, and he couldn't bring himself to do something that-although all his advisors and laws said differently-his heart thought was so wrong.

But it wasn't like he had any choice in the matter.

Immediately in the next morning, there were letters sent to him from the citizens, begging him to seek out and kill the sorcerer because they were living in fear and couldn't stand the thought that a magic user was among them-a magic user that saved their lives, mind you-and even stated some suspects. And in the meeting in the evening, the matter of the sorcerer was all that was discussed. The next few days, the problem had escalated. People were panicking, some of them even conducting witch hunts on their own and Arthur had had to send knights to rescue the intended victims. It was slowly but surely turning into an uproar. There was nothing Arthur could do. His hands had been forced.

A witch finder. It was a solution Arthur definitely did not like, considering the fiasco last time, but he need something to assure his people that he was seriously looking into the matter. And this was where thing all went downhill.

Three days into his search, the witch finder had announced that he found the sorcerer. And, in front of Arthur and the whole court, the person that the witch finder pointed his finger to with such conviction was, once again, Merlin.

Arthur had brushed it off as rubbish, as always. He told the witch finder that he was mistaken, that the bumbling idiot of a manservant couldn't possibly know magic. The witch finder, perhaps sensing that Arthur was not to be swayed, asked for more time and excused himself. Arthur watched him go, wonder if the man knew he planted seed of doubt in the king's mind. That night, he called Merlin to his room and told him that, if he needed to tell him anything, he could say it now. He had looked Merlin straight into the eyes, sensing as the seconds stretched on to minutes, waiting for a confession that never came. Merlin, not once breaking the gaze, had said that there was nothing he was hiding. Arthur believed him, because this was Merlin, and the king went to bed with all doubt cleared from his head.

And the search for the sorcerer went on and on. At the beginning of the third week, when Arthur was starting to feel impatient, the witch finder had come forward and presented him a girl that Arthur knew to be a seamstress from the lower town, who was incessantly pleading her innocence.

Arthur put her in the dungeon.

Three days later, on the morning of her to-be-execution, just a few hour before the event, Merlin came to his room, saying he want to tell Arthur something. Arthur just opened the door to let his manservant in, wondering what on earth the idiot wanted. Even as he closed the door behind him, he didn't feel the least bit worried.

Twenty minutes later, the guards outside his room was startled as their king kicked the door open and order them to release the girl who was crying in the cell, a stormy expression in his face. He rewarded the witch finder generously, but told him to get out of Camelot immediately, no explanation given. The crowd that had gathered to watch the execution thinned at its cancel, but the witnesses of the beast death and several more people remained. They complained, they spoke of evil and fear, they demanded the execution to be carried out. Arthur had walked out and dealt with them personally. He convinced them, bribed them, threatened them, blackmailed them to forget everything and just go home. He hinted darkly at them that anyone who breathed one more word on the matter would be taking the sorcerer's place on the pyre. And after all was said and done, he made his way back to his chamber, finding his room just the way he left it, except that it was empty. He threw himself onto the bed and, alone at last, began to sort through the mess of emotion that was swirling in his chest.

Merlin wake him up as usual, but everything was already different. No cheery rise and shine or any other varieties of the phrase. He was completely silence. Arthur couldn't stand that silence. Arthur didn't think he could even stand Merlin's presence anymore. So the moment he got out of bed, he grabbed hold of Merlin and steered him roughly out of the room before slamming the door right in his manservant's face. He pretended that he didn't hear Merlin's choked sob or his apologies whispered repeatedly on the other side of the door. He got another servant to attend to him for the day. He didn't say anything about relieving Merlin of his duties, however, so Merlin still come to him in the morning the next day and the many days after that.

And the same thing happened the next day and the many days after that. Except that Merlin didn't linger.

Many, many days later, Merlin was no longer being kicked out of Arthur room and he resumed with his chores. There were no more banter, however, not even words. Merlin just hovered in the background like some sort of ghost that simply appeared at the same hour everyday and then disappeared. Arthur pretended Merlin wasn't there, pretended that he hadn't seen how lifeless he looked, how sad his eyes were. The king couldn't bring himself to say anything, so there was only silence between them, suffocating silence.

But Arthur did talk with someone else. Gaius. When he had buried all the anger and hurt somewhat deep enough, he had told Gaius that he wanted to know everything. The physician had inquired what he wanted to do with Merlin. Arthur honestly didn't know. He just wanted to hear the story for himself for now. He asked the old man to arrange so that they could be alone, so Gaius had told Merlin to go out on chores for him everytime Arthur came knocking at his door. And Gaius told Arthur everything. About how Merlin was born with magic, how Merlin was special, even among sorcerers, how he protected Arthur in the shadow many, many times, how it was Arthur and Merlin's destiny to build Albion together. Stories after stories about Merlin saving his life again and again, and Arthur knew Merlin had never used his magic for anything other than good deeds, that Arthur should be grateful to him, that Arthur should appreciate Merlin for all he had done. But then, he thought back on that night, how Merlin had stared him in the eyes and told him he wasn't hiding anything and the pain came flooding back. Arthur ordered, more like begged Gaius to keep their talk between just the two of them. Gaius frowned, knowing Merlin was hurt just as much as Arthur, if not more, but he finally conceded and decided to let Arthur worked out things on his own.

He had come to regret that decision immensely later on.

The silence stretched into weeks and then months, more deafening than any sounds that could have been made. A fierce battle raged within Arthur all the while, and the king fought desperately to find an answer to his question. But there were no use asking himself, because only Merlin knew the answer, and he needed to ask Merlin for it.

It took a long time, but Arthur finally decided. He took Merlin on a hunt, just the two of them, no knights. Even though that as the king of Camelot, he shouldn't be going out alone without protection. Even though his advisers were all against it. Arthur was adamant, because this was necessary to him. For his peace of mind, and maybe for Merlin also, he needed to confront his best friend and get his reply.

He still put it off as long as he could, though, trying to focus his mind on the hunt instead. Ironically, although he had never paid so much attention to the actual hunting all his life as he had today, this was the one time he didn't catch anything. Merlin trailed after him, eyes on the ground, not tripping even once, which was in itself a sign that something was majorly wrong. Arthur stalled. He reasoned with himself that there would be time at the end of the hunt. Hell, there would be years.

However, it turned out that he didn't have all that time. Or at least, Merlin didn't.

Bandits. The two of them against about twelve enemies. Of course it wasn't a fair fight. However, only now did Arthur understand the fact that the one getting the short end of the stick were the bandit, and now that Merlin can perform spell in front of Arthur, the bandits stood no chance. It should have been like that. So why did all go so wrong?

At the end of the battle, when every bandit he could see was laying motionlessly on the ground and the threat seemingly over, he had cleaned his sword and sheathed it. He didn't account for one survivor, or did he see the arrow heading straight for him.

* * *

Merlin should have blocked that arrow with his magic. In fact, he could have. But this was the kind of choices that gave you only about one-tenth of a second to make, so the decision is not exactly the ideal one: He immediately jumped forward and pushed Arthur out of the way. Something slammed painfully into his back. He only had enough time to cry out before strength drained out of him and his legs gave out. His vision had blurred and darkened as soon as he felt the impact, but it didn't clear so he couldn't see. He could tell he was being lifted up, though.

"MERLIN!"

Arthur's voice was somewhere above him. Was Arthur holding him? Merlin could feel the king's arm beneath him, though even that feeling was fading as numbness spread through him. He was numb and freezing. It was strange. He had been feeling so hot up until just a few moment ago. He pressed himself against Arthur, trying to seek some warmth. He was so tired, and the darkness just seemed so comfortable, so welcoming that he just wanted to let it take him and then he could sleep. He was so dizzy and light-headed that he couldn't think. His thought was muddled and started to make no sense. Why was Arthur shaking him? Couldn't the prat just take care of himself and let him sleep once in a while? He ignored the shaking, but then someone slapped him. He opened his eyes indignantly, but found that his eyelids were like lead, and even though he had them open, his sight was dark. He was forgetting something. His chest hurt so much, not from physical pains since they had long since faded. There was something he needed to say, something he desperately needed to have.

And then it hit him. Just as the last trickle of life flowed out of his body, his mind was cleared. Tears dripped silently from his eyes as he struggled to form the words, a seemingly impossible task when there was no breath left in his lung. But he needed to say them.

"Ar….Ar..thur….I'm…so…so..rry…P..lease…fo….rg..ive…me…"

With a final burst of strength, he lifted his arm, his hand reaching in the vague direction that he thought Arthur was. He could no longer hear anything even if Arthur was shouting right into his ears. He could hold on no longer, and he knew it. But he needed a sign. Just something enough to tell him that Arthur heard him, that Arthur understood just how sorry he was for lying and perhaps tell him that Arthur forgive him even if it was empty gestures meant for the dyings.

His fingers only touched air. And all disappeared.

* * *

Arthur sat there, still as a statue, Merlin's body in his lap, his left hand frozen in midair where it had failed to catch Merlin's right one before it fell onto the ground. Everything had happened so fast. The moment Merlin collapsed, Arthur had thrown his sword into the remaining bandit where it was still sunk. Arthur didn't check to see if he was really dead, nor did he scan the area for any more danger. All that mattered was Merlin. He lifted his friend up, trying to swallow the lump in his throat when he saw the arrow embedded in Merlin's back. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but he didn't require his experience at battlefield to know that the arrow had struck Merlin's heart.

Fear gripped Arthur and he desperately shook his friend, tried to keep Merlin awake. He didn't care that Kings wasn't supposed to cry, especially for a servant. He cried and cried and called Merlin's name and shaking him, he was breaking down because they were supposed to have more time, damn it. Arthur was supposed to have more time to fix their friendship, because the last few months were nothing but silence, because he hadn't said anything to Merlin and there were so many thing he wanted to say, and because Merlin was being ripped from him so cruelly. Merlin's eyes were glazed over and they were starting to close. Arthur shook him harder, trying to keep Merlin awake, but when Merlin didn't respond Arthur apologized and slapped Merlin's cheek, hard. Merlin's eyes opened wide again, but his gaze was unfocused and when he seemed to stare at Arthur's general direction but not quite finding the exact mark, Arthur realized with a sinking heart that Merlin couldn't see. Arthur held Merlin closer and begged him to hold on, he begged because there was nothing more he could do while Merlin was slipping away.

He heard Merlin gasp out something and he leaned closer, just in time to catch Merlin's whispered apology. His chest hurt when he heard Merlin's plea for forgiveness because he remembered that he hadn't told Merlin that he was no longer mad at him, that he didn't care about the magic, that he was so, so sorry for treating him so badly, that he owed Merlin for saving his life. He had put those words off for so long that it was too late.

He looked up to see that Merlin was raising his hand toward him, searching. He reached out to grasp that hand, but he was too slow, because Merlin's hand was already falling and then Merlin's gone. And Arthur's mind came to a stand still because Merlin just died right before his eyes. Then when he finally moved, he buried his face in Merlin's shoulder and wailed. He thought back on how he'd thrown Merlin out of his room, slammed the door on him and hearing Merlin's broken sobs on the other side. All those moments he spent pretending that Merlin didn't exist. He could never take back those days. He needed more time, a few more days, several more hours or perhaps just some more seconds so that he could get a hold of Merlin's hand in time. But there would never be any more time, ever, because Merlin was gone, and all the apologies that were coming out of his mouth were meaningless because Merlin wouldn't be able to hear them.

And Arthur could only weep.

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**I know the plot is overused but I can't help it, I'm a sucker for angst :)**

**Anyways, please review. And excuse me if there are grammar mistakes. I'm not English. **


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